Shepherd Apollo

Climb with me, Laomedon's white fleeces,
Upward to the hilltops, up to Ida,
To unshaded dews and earliest dawning.
Young and lustrous, god and yet a servant.
As a star past rock and tree I climb.
Raise your heads erect, ye flocks, and listen
To the note I strike from off my lyre!
They have heard, they stand each head erected:
Thus they wait the Grazing-Tune that woos
Slowly to the ridges and the sky.
I have struck it: all submissive listen,
Till they feed in mystery advancing,
Drawn to solemn paces by a spell;
Then to sharper strains one way they hurry.
Fleece by fleece around me, till I strike
Sweet, soft notes that lay them down to slumber,
I beside them, where the sun no more
Falls across us, but the chilling moonlight:
There we sleep, my flock and I together,
I, a god, though servant of a king.